


Help Me Remember

by tearyangel



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apocalypse, Conflict, DNF, Emotional Hurt, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minecraft, Past Character Death, Post-Apocalypse, Sad Ending, dreamnotfound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28407177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tearyangel/pseuds/tearyangel
Summary: In the midst of an apocalypse, Dream finds a friend and develops a dangerous fondness for him."𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯." 𝘎𝘦𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥'𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥?𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘴, 𝘸𝘪𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘸, 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, "𝘥𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵?""𝘙𝘪𝘴𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦."
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 79





	1. A Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> I started this story very sleep deprived, and I have no idea what prompted me to write this. This is an almost post-apocalypse au. Where it's toward the end of an apocalypse of some kind, and most cities have a place for survivors to stay, however it's still not entirely safe. 
> 
> It's probably not my best writing, and may need editing later. This also may get sad, possibly. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy reading ((:

An assortment of bright colours seep into the sky casting an orange glow on the ground to signal dawn. The world seemingly at rest, peaceful yet alarming; the silence putting Dream on edge as he slumps through the deserted town. His tired legs forcing him to halt, although he hasn't been walking long, the wounds that scatter his legs becoming all too painful, forcing the man to take a break.

This town is one he had become used to over these last few months which he found rather ironic, seeing as before all this, Dream hated this place. However, this city eventually grew to be desolate, but most of all, safe.

The towns which connect at the centre of this city have been taken over by people akin to Dream; immune. It was deemed a 'safe haven' which he longed to find, and had been travelling toward it for a while now. However Dream's injuries, and dire need to take a break led him to take shelter in this town, which is where he's been staying for the last few days.

Admittedly, he doesn't know exactly how long he's been here, but he has the complete layout of this worn out town memorised, noting everything even slightly important. It's almost shocking that he's made it this far, and has single-handedly made this small area totally safe- but it didn't come easy. He wonders if things will ever return to normal, or if he just needs to adapt to this new way of life. Memories of the way things were before fill Dream's head and a wave of nostalgia washes over him so slowly he feels like he's drowning. 

The media never covered the outbreak, ignoring it until it became too hard to. Nobody knew about it until it was too late; traumatising almost everybody he knew. He's lost so many, unable to help as he watched what it does to them. This bizarre disease was a mutation of some kind, and is somehow passed through bodily fluids. 

Due to this lack of media coverage, Dream knew almost nothing. Though he's very familiar with the violence it causes, as those with the disease is the exact reason people have been in hiding. 

The affected ones grow aggressive, so much so, they'll try to kill you if given the chance. Their only goal being to infect others, not caring if it means they'll die too. The bite is the most common way they try to spread the virus, and it seems to be the most effective, so even though Dream is immune, that doesn't mean he's safe. 

Those who are infected still trying their uttermost hardest to cause some kind of damage, which is why they're so dangerous, and why reaching the sanctuary is so important to people like Dream. 

Although he doesn't know much about the haven, he knows it's secured enough to keep him safe, making that destination the most vital one. 

Dream prods at his leg, feeling a familiar warm liquid cover the tips of his fingers, staining them red. the blonde sighs, noting he'll have to search for more resources in order to change the bandage so it has a lower chance of infection. He musters up enough strength to tear the fabric from the bottom of his shirt, and uses it to tie around his wound. This will have to do. 

He limps into one of the nearby buildings, knowing it's empty from the few nights he's spent here. As he finds his way in, darkness greets him, the shattered windows seemingly doing nothing to let in sunlight of any kind. Instead, letting in a dim glow, casting awkward and eerie shadows around every corner. 

The blonde settles down, making mental notes to scour some of the buildings which lie a little further out for any kind of materials that may be useful, food being the most important right now. His inability to sleep at night leaves him feeling exhausted, he prefers to sleep when it's daylight as the night provides too many opportunities to be snuck up on in the dark.

He can almost feel the bags threatening to form even darker under his heavy eyes, so he closes them in attempts to welcome sleep, but it doesn't come.

A mix of paranoia and fear washes over Dream as a rustle outside startles him. His breaths become shallow, and he slowly guides his hands to the axe lying still at his feet. The quiet sound of metal scraping is all that can be heard as he grips the weapon in his hands. Another short sound causes Dream to jump, his heartbeat growing rapidly as he waits for something to happen.

Silence follows and for a moment, he wonders if he was dreaming, could he have made the noise up?

He glares at the door, waiting for something to happen. Just as he's about to let down his guard and shrug it off as nothing, the door swings open cautiously. He wants to call out, but refrains from doing so on the off chance it could be a diseased, but a small voice soon crushes that theory.

"Hello?" The voice says in a hushed tone, and Dream can't help but notice the accent the boy has. Stubbornly, he stays quiet, gripping his axe even tighter while he brains repeats it could be a trap. He glares at the boy's silhouette as he walks in, his steps wary and hesitant. "Please don't hurt me."

An odd feeling of desperation to console the boy washes over Dream, and he sets his weapon back down on the floor, sliding it away from him to prove he's no harm. The brunette seems to be grateful for this action, as he begins walking closer, a shy smile written on his face. For a short moment, Dream panics and almost leans over to grab his trusty axe once again, but he stops himself upon seeing the scared expression on the boy's face.

"Immune?" he asks quietly, taking a seat on the floor next to Dream and leaning back against the wall. "Or just lucky?" 

The blonde chuckles lightly, the feeling almost foreign to him, "Immune."

The other boy nods in understanding, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Can I..." He pauses, figuring a way to phrase his question without seeming strange. "Stay here?" 

Dreams hums a response to let him know he's fine with it and receives a grin in return. He mimics the boy's expression, holding out a hand toward him, "you can call me Dream." 

"George." The other replies, shaking his hand fondly. 

Clearing his throat, the taller stands, towering over his new friend as he helps him to his feet. "Well, George...We need food."

After hearing a sound of agreement, they trek outside the building, the sun now shining proudly in the sky. The two walk side by side toward a building toward the other side of the small, empty town. Dream's limp becoming prominent with every step he takes. George peeks at him, concern apparent on his face but Dream waves his worry off with a dismissive hand, as if it's not as bad as it seems. 

They soon reach a building, just as the hot air starts to grow humid and thick. The pair make their way inside, panting lightly from the heat. The open door allows a stretch of sunlight into the room, illuminating the dust which floats in the air idly. 

Luckily, the room appears empty, so they split up to look around. In a dark corner, Dream can make out the outline of a body and his face twists into one of disgust, unaware of how long its been there. A short breath escapes his lips upon finding a backpack lying nearby, and he reaches out to it with a trembling hand. A movement behind Dream alerts him of somebody's presence, but the boy speaks and it instantly eases his nerves. "Dead?"

Dream nods in response as he grabs the bag, and begins shuffling through the many items inside to find something of use. 

"Food. We should take it." He states, zipping it back up and swinging over his shoulder. A noise startles them, and the two spin in unison as a pained sound echoes loudly throughout the room, and something moves within the shadows.

"We're not alone." George whispers, squinting to try and see what's lurking in the shadows. Dream reaches for his his axe, and pulls it out in one swift motion; something he's clearly done hundreds of times before. He steps in front of the smaller boy, his protective instinct and a rush of adrenaline washing over him as they wait for the creature to appear.

A scream emits from the infected as they launch themselves out of the shadows and toward the two, and Dream's grip tightens on his axe as he raises it with ease, before lunging into the air and slamming it back down into the thing's skull. George's expression shifts from one of fear, to one of disgust as the loud crunch of bones shattering echoes around them. 

The smaller boy freezes, unable to move as he watches a body fall limp, thudding as it hits the floor. Within seconds, a pool of blood forms around them as thick blood oozes from their head. With wide eyes, he stutters, “oh my god."

Looking down, Dream stares at the body with a blank expression, a familiar feelings of numbness greets his core. He tears his eyes away, and steps backwards, wearily watching his friend who stands stunned at his actions.

"It had to be done." Dream announces, and begins heading out of the building. 

George pales. "I don't like it," he admits, his voice shaky and broken. He forces himself to look away, and follows his new friend in disbelief.

"Oh, shut up. I didn't have a choice. Besides, I was saving your ass." He chuckles teasingly, while looking over his shoulder at George.

The boy trails behind Dream, slumping his shoulders as he shakes his head. "You know you don't need to save me." He says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Trickles of confusion clouds Dream's brain. Why wouldn't he? They're friends now, after all, and he'd do anything to protect his friends. He tries to shrug it off, maybe George isn't used to having friends like Dream.

The two begin their short journey back to the safest building, the one Dream has been sleeping in and on the way, he decides to inform George of the safe haven, explaining that it's his goal to find it. 

"Can I tag along?" He asks, hopefulness lacing his voice as he glances at his friend.

Dream can't help but smile, something about George's features seem to strike him as warmth builds subtly in his chest and he agrees, happy to take him along too.


	2. A Dagger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Dream sit under the comfort of the stars, a secret admiration lingering in the air.
> 
> I wrote this on 4 hours of sleep, oops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little shorter than I planned, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

The gentle glow of the moon reflects fondly onto the ground with the help of the stars which twinkle and glimmer within the depths of the darkened sky. A desolate town illuminated by moonlight sits in a peaceful silence, seeming almost unnerving to the blonde boy sitting all alone. The ghost of a breeze whisking through the air, creating a path of goosebumps on his skin as he shudders, ever so slightly. 

Yellow street lights flicker eerily in the distance, casting pale tones which stretch across the ground. The atmosphere shifts as Dream feels the presence of somebody behind him, alerting him as he spins to face the figure. His cold expression eases, soon replaced with a soft smile as he returns his eyes to the sky.

“What are you doing out here all alone?” George’s curious eyes are drawn to his friend as he takes a seat beside him on the cold surface of the ground. 

Dream shrugs, blowing out a breath of air, “I can’t sleep,” he pauses, peeking at the boy. “Did I wake you?”

He shakes his head in response, propping himself back onto his elbows and leaning his head to look at the stars, though Dream’s eyes stay locked onto George. For some reason, he’d been doing a lot of this recently; staring at his friend, but he shrugged it off noting that he’s just appealing to look at. He reaches over abruptly, yet carefully, tracing over George’s knuckles with his hand, a spark of shameless admiration in his eyes. A blooming warmth in Dream’s chest causes him to retract his hand, fearful of losing a friend so soon. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. 

The blue fabric of George’s shirt hangs loosely on his frame, exposing the top of his shoulders which catches the moon’s light the same way his face does. His features seem smoother in this dim light, and it makes everything looks...perfect. 

After a while, Dream’s eyes rise up toward the sky once again, glimmering and full of stars. 

“Were you really alone all this time?” He asks, catching George off guard, and his attention flicks to the blonde. A small frown prominent on his face as they stare back at one another. 

Tugging absently at the hem of his shirt, George finally speaks up, “I don’t want to talk about it.” He pauses, sitting himself back up. “What about you?”

Dream’s breath catches in his throat at the question and his mind goes blank, “I was in a group for a while.” He says, honestly. Though he can’t seem to remember much more. His face drops as a sense of sadness washes over him; although he struggles understanding why. Vague memories of past friends without faces surface in his head, but nothing makes sense. 

He clears his throat, avoiding his thoughts as his usual confidence returns, “it’s actually because i’m a really good fighter.”

George rolls his eyes at the cockiness in his voice, and in amusement, challenges him. “Prove it.”

The previous question slips from Dream’s mind as he stands up to dust his hands on his shirt and he helps his friend to his feet. A playful smirk finds its way onto his face as he narrows his eyes at George, who only laughs in return. 

He throws a weak fist toward the smaller boy, “is it condescending to be scared I might hurt you?” 

He dodges the punch with ease, and throws one back of his own, striking Dream in the ribs. He feigns hurt, but drops the act as he chuckles. He doesn’t get the opportunity to throw a punch back, before George hits him again, this time in the jaw.

Dream grunts, surprised he was able to land that. He grins proudly, before dropping the friendly attitude. “You really want this?” He questions, and George nods.

“I’m clearly going to win anyways, you’re slacking.” This sentence slithers into Dream’s skull, drawing his competitive side out. He closes his hand into a fist, and holds it in front of his eyes as he observes his form. Satisfied, he lands a punch on the side of George’s face, and grins at the sound as it connects.

In response, the boy throws another few hits to Dream, and manages to dodge the ones thrown his way. His small frame proving to be more helpful in this situation as his movements are faster, and more agile.

Though Dream’s hits seem fatal, his knuckles appear to be made from solid iron as he swings at his friend. Bruises are beginning to form on the two already, and it’s growing even more intense as time goes on.

George smiles in false innocence as he reaches into the waistband of his pants, grabbing some kind of dagger, not giving Dream any time to react.

The cold edge of the blade presses firmly against his throat. Short, ragged breaths escape his lips as his expression twists into a smile. He can feel the cold metal sinking into his skin, tearing the flesh beneath it and drawing a small drop of blood which trickles towards his collarbone and seeps into his shirt.

Dream meets George’s eyes once again, though his smile falters upon notices his attention is focused on the red liquid beginning to stain his shirt. He takes this moment to grip the dagger, twisting it outwards and tackling his friend to the ground. The sound of metal hits the floor before their bodies do, and they’re careful to avoid it as they fall.

Pinning his hands above his head, Dream looks down, grinning at George in triumph. The two pant, sharing breaths as they both realise their faces closer than intended but neither of them dare to move. The two inch closer subconsciously, their expressions serious yet they appear confused.

Minds clouded with haze as they stare at each other, the seconds ticking by in slow motion as they remain still. 

“I guess you’re an okay fighter.” George muses, finally breaking the agonising silence.

A warmth travels up Dream’s neck as he scrambles up. “You still suck though.” He deadpans, with a small grin.

George tuts in response, before standing up and trudging back toward the building, “you must’ve looked so strange.”

He follows behind, ignoring his friend’s confusing statement and settling himself among the blankets they had set up to sleep in. George does the same, poking at the blonde beside him to get his attention. The boy removes his eyes from the spot on the ceiling he was glaring at, and looks at George with an eyebrow raised.

“Will you sleep now?” He asks delicately, worry lacing his voice at the state of Dream.

He nods, “the night makes me paranoid, you know?” He confesses, watching George intently as he shuffles closer to him. The smaller boy hums in understanding, and clings to the other in attempts to comfort him; which of course, Dream is grateful for.

“Goodnight.” He mutters, before closing his eyes and slowly falling into the dark abyss.


	3. Overwhelming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream begins to realise things he hadn't before, and becomes overwhelmed.

The heat of the Floridian weather began feeling so heavy, it felt as if it was sinking into Dream’s skin. The stifling atmosphere causes beads of sweat to gather on his hairline, and he glances at the boy beside him, wondering if he’s feeling the same. Though when his eyes meet his friend’s, he averts his eyes awkwardly.

“Why are you staring at me?” George asks, bewildered as to why he woke up with Dream watching over him. 

The blonde coughs, avoiding his question with one of his own, “are you hot?”

“Sweating.” He admits, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and positioning himself up with his back against the wall. Dream nods in agreement, forcing himself to stand, the movement only increasing the heat to him. 

George copies this action, stretching his arms out in front of him as he brings himself to his feet, his shirt clinging to him uncomfortably due to the sweat. The taller begins his way out of the building, and the other follows close behind.

The two close the heavy door together, making sure it’s secure before Dream takes the lead, wandering around the back of the building. In the distance, the ground wobbles from the harsh warmth of the sun, and the blonde groans in frustration. 

“Where are we going?” George asks, curious eyes peeking at his friend as he catches up to him. He doesn’t get a proper answer, instead, Dream points ahead of them toward a stream he hadn’t noticed before. 

As they near the river, the blonde begins undressing, stripping himself of his dirty clothes and leaving them at the riverbank as he steps into the shallow, crisp water. Goosebumps arise on his skin as the brisk temperature travels up his legs, contrasting greatly to the humid air. He leans down, the water biting at his fingertips as he touches the surface delicately, creating small ripples.

Dream quickly adjusts to the chilling water, sitting himself down and beginning to wash his body from the grit, dirt and blood which sit on his skin. He mindlessly scrubs his body clean, not noticing his friend who begins undressing, too. George enters the water hesitantly, the numbing water nipping at his flesh as he shivers slightly. 

Warmth spreads up Dream’s neck at the sight of his friend, and he tries to ignore it, worried he might be feeling things he shouldn’t be. He tries to look elsewhere, but his eyes observe George intently and he can’t seem to pull them away. 

“Why are you so secretive?” The blonde blurts abruptly, not taking his eyes off the other. 

George peers over, confusion written on his face. “Secretive?” 

“It’s annoying. Who were you with before you found me?” Trickles of regret seep into Dream’s brain as he cringes at how hostile he sounded. Usually, he would never apologise for something like that, nor would he have cared enough to even notice the harsh tone, but it’s different with George. He finds himself feeling guilty, and hopes the boy didn’t pick up on it.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.” He states quietly, reciting yesterday’s words. Dream huffs in response, not liking that answer. “Why do you care so much?” 

He shrugs at this, choosing not to carry on with the conversation, but rather continue cleaning himself up. Minutes go by, and just as Dream is about to step out, an icy splash of water hits his back, followed by a quiet giggle. 

He narrows his eyes, turning around to face the culprit, who's barely trying to hide his laughter. A light sparkle in his eyes informs Dream of his mischievous intentions and the blush on his cheeks catches the blonde off guard. Shaping his hand into a cup, Dream splashes the boy back, a warmth growing in his chest as it provokes another giggle from the other. George retaliates, causing his friend to double over in laughter and the two break out into a play fight, splashing one another with the frosty water.

Dream launches himself at the smaller boy, tackling him into the water and completely soaking both of them. George props himself up on his elbows up, a fake scowl on his face as the blonde is positioned over him, not allowing him to get up.

Heat suddenly washes over Dream’s face as he notices their proximity. He realises he’s put the two in the same situation as yesterday, pinning George down while their faces almost touch. He can hear his heart thumping, and for a moment, worries if George can hear it too. He takes a careful breath as the atmosphere grows silent. Guilt flashes in his mind, and he wonders if he’s making it worse.

His panic eases when George tugs his arm free, and reaches out with a wet hand toward the blonde’s collarbone. Dream looks down, noticing he missed a spot when washing. Dried blood from yesterday stains the flesh by his throat, and he smiles fondly at the memory.

The smaller boy traces his fingers against his skin, ridding it of blood as Dream shudders under his touch. The feeling creating a vibrant spark of electricity, yet it’s so delicate, he’s unsure if it’s real. His breath shallows into slow, uneven pants as George’s fingers linger on his skin, the contact becoming too much for Dream, who is so overwhelmed by the simplicity of it, needs to create some distance between the two. He’s not sure if he can take much more of it, the feeling driving him crazy already, and he’s sure he’s overreacting. 

George, being so painfully oblivious, continues; unaware of just how much his touch affects his friend. “You’re not so bad, you know?” He says absentmindedly as his fingers brush over Dream’s neck, creating a path of goosebumps in its track. He observes the blonde, watching as his chest rises and falls while droplets of water trickle down his body carelessly.

“It’s nice.” The other boy stutters, his usual cool, cocky attitude disappearing into thin air. His brain is clouded with confusion, and he wants these feelings to stop.

George hums in question, dropping his hand back into the water, “what is?”

You. “To not have to worry about everything.” 

The boy nods in agreement, and Dream finally rises from atop of George, choosing to leave the water and dry off. He tells himself he just needs some time away from his friend to put these strange feelings to a halt, because he doesn’t want to ruin this newfound friendship so soon by some careless actions he might end up doing if George carries on doing these things. 

These things which affect Dream far more than they should.

“We should head back.” He calls out, not waiting for the other before walking back towards his building.

The colours in the sky seep into one another in a way to signal nightfall is nearing, a silent, gentle breeze floats through the air as Dream trudges inside and is soon accompanied by George, who takes a seat on the ground beside him.

A moment of silence washes over the boys as they watch the sky change colours through a broken window, it’s calming.

“You know, you keep complaining I'm being secretive.” George starts, glancing at his friend. “But you haven’t exactly told me how you’re still alive, either.”

His words prod at Dream unintentionally, his tone teasingly yet serious, and it’s as if George has a blade to his throat once again- causing Dream to choke, spluttering at the memory which has now turned into a twisted one, evilness buried in George’s actions. 

The cold edge of that same dagger pressed into his flesh once again, a hidden disgust on the smaller’s face. Dream wishes he wasn’t like this, overthinking simple jokes and rethinking the entire meanings behind every action. In his head, he repeats, George didn’t mean to be hurtful.

Though it does nothing to stop his own thoughts that maybe George did mean it.

Dream sits stunned, his thoughts loud but he shakes his head, not wanting to be thinking of his friend like this; as if he meant to be hurtful. He meets George’s eyes, and his expression soon turns into a snarl as he imagines blood trickling down his neck. He can’t help it.

“Because I don’t remember!” Dream yells in a sudden outburst, his voice raw from the volume. He watches his friend’s eyes widen, an apologetic look on his face, but he doesn’t want to hear it. 

Why did his words dig at him like that? 

The boy stands abruptly, his eyes glossy as adrenaline fills his veins. He storms away, heading outside and towards the sun setting in the horizon. He just needs some time alone.


	4. To Remember

The sky was always one of the few things Dream truly adored, more so at night, when the moon would greet him after a hard day. He’d always look to the sky after those kinds of days, gently admiring how calm everything seemed up there. Now, the moon is surely tired of this; silently comforting the blonde whenever he needed it, but this routine would never stop. His eyes glossy, shimmering from the reflection of the night sky, Dream exhales.

Feeling significantly better, he rises to his feet and trudges toward the building once again. His journey is cut short as he sees a familiar face, and he comes to a halt upon noticing the situation. George was a short distance away, but ahead of him was another person. An infected.

It doesn’t take long before adrenaline floods Dream’s veins, along with a sudden urge to protect his friend. An apology would have to wait. The smaller boy catches the other’s eye, mouthing the word ‘run.’ Though Dream ignores this advice, choosing instead to step in. George’s eyes narrow at his friend, “I don’t think he’s seen you, just run.”

The blonde pulls a face, disagreeing with him. Just as he goes to respond, the creature ahead makes a sound between a gurgle and a scream- the noise absolutely terrifying to the two boys who tear their eyes from each other to the infected. Without another thought, Dream takes a bold step toward it, reaching for his axe. The creature roars in anticipation, lurching itself toward the boy who struggles with his weapon. As if in slow motion, George calls out to his friend in panic, watching as his body thumps to the floor, the creature landing directly on top of him.

Helplessly, he observes as Dream attempts to free his axe from its holder as the thing atop of him flails, attacking the boy. A pained wail bellows through the air as Dream is injured. He pants heavily, the deranged face of the creature disgusting him as he longs for this to be over with. Either this thing dies, or he does.

A high pitched scraping sound is heard, followed by an agonising silence as George squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting to know what’s happening. Bordering on impatience, he finally opens his eyes, examining the scene before him. Dream heaves, shoving the creature away from him harshly, glaring at it as its lifeless body hits the floor beside him. He retrieves his axe from somewhere in between it's throat and it’s shoulder, grimacing at the blood staining the metal. He glances down at the thing one last time, before shaking his head and standing up.

A proud smile soon appears on Dream’s face as he makes his way towards George, who looks back at him disappointingly.

“Never do that again.” George spits as he glares harshly at the blonde in front of him. His expression softens as he notices blood seeping through the fabric of his friend’s shirt. _How could he be so stupid?_

Dream tuts, wiping the red liquid from his lip as he raises a daring brow, an innocent smile playing at his lips, “do what?”

“Risk your life for me.”

His smug smile falters at this, noticing the serious tone in George’s voice. He wants to tell him that it was an honour, that he’d do it again in a heartbeat if he had to, that he doesn’t regret it one bit- but it would only prompt an even worse reaction from him, so he decides to keep quiet instead.

George sighs, turning around and walking in the opposite direction. For a moment, the blonde grows worried he really upset the boy, but his next words ease these feelings. “Coming?”

The blonde smiles, jogging to catch up to his friend, glad he’s not actually annoyed. As they walk side by side, Dream notices how close they are, and how easy it would be to move a centimetre to the left, and ‘accidentally’ brush his hands against George’s. The promise of so much bliss but a fingertip away, it makes his chest ache. He decides he won't confess his feelings to George unless he receives a reaction from him which could suggest he feels the same.

The two reach the river, and the smaller boy rushes to the water immediately, calling his friend over and insisting he removes his shirt. Dream obliges, perching on the riverbank as George helps to clean the blood, and providing aid to his wounds which weren’t as bad as they first appeared to be. The blonde leans back on his elbows, watching intently as George crumples up the shirt he was wearing and using it as a cloth to clean the injury. His chest warms at the sight of his friend’s concerned expression, the ghost of his touch creating goosebumps on Dream’s skin.

“You’re pretty.” He blurts without thinking, though as the words spill from his mouth, he doesn’t regret them. His heart beats heavily in his chest as he awaits a reaction.

Lips parted, George looks up. “Thank you.” Dream smiles in return, not taking his eyes off his friend watching as he returns to aiding the wound, wrapping another piece of fabric around it to try and stop the bleeding. When he’s finished, he looks back up, catching Dream’s intense gaze. The blonde grins guiltily, his eyes confessing that he’d been caught in the act, while George giggles in return. Dream secretly relishes in this moment, the moonlight reflecting off his friend’s porcelain skin as his laughter fills the air; the only other sound being the gentle ripples in the river beside them. A moment he hopes to never forget.

Some time passes, the two enjoying the other’s company while sharing little moments together. Eventually, they decide to head back, exhaustion finally setting in as they longed for some sleep. The pair arrive back, settling in the corner of the room surrounded by soft fabrics and blankets.

“George?” The blonde whispers, almost not wanting a reply as then he’ll have to admit he’s too shaken up to sleep; he’ll have to admit he needs comforting as if he were a child after having a bad dream.

The smaller boy perks his head up, seemingly understanding as he shuffles closer which the blonde is grateful for. Suddenly, a hand trails up Dream’s arm, leaving a path of fire. The contact causing him to shudder and for a moment, he wonders if he fell asleep already and is in a daze which is warping his mind. But then it happens again- a gentle touch setting his entire body ablaze. The gesture so simple, so delicate, it could have been accidental, but this very gesture causes a series of thoughts so intense, Dream would almost rather be asleep than awake. This cycle of overthinking rapidly leading into a sense of hopefulness, and then doubt.

He revisits the idea that George feels the same way as he does, and this is his way of showing it. This very thought igniting a twinge of hope that perhaps Dream isn’t the only one feeling these things. But that very same doubt shines through once again, and he begins thinking that the brisk action may not have even crossed George’s mind in the same way it did to him. Perhaps it was more of a mindless action; done unpurposely to simply comfort a friend rather than a silent confession he wouldn’t have dared to say aloud.

Too late, Dream _purposefully_ retaliates in a similar way, trailing his fingers over the back of George’s hand and attempting to seem as casual as he did. This only progressed, the smaller boy shifting himself so he and Dream were touching, which only left a growing impatience in the blonde’s chest as he found himself waiting, debating, whether he should or he shouldn’t. Not knowing whether his feelings are reciprocated is torture, yet not daring to ask in case his suspicions are wrong seems even worse. Did he even want to know, or would knowing hurt him even more than not?

A silence creeps between the two, Dream casting quick glances at the other, and then looking away after seconds due to a twisted mutation of fear- never looking for long enough to be invited in those eyes which could pull him and drown him with ease; but not wanting to know if he had even been invited in anyways.

With his heart in his throat, Dream decides he can’t take anymore of this waiting. He faces the boy, giving in to all urges - it would have led up to this anyway, wouldn’t it? He grabs George’s chin, a sudden boldness mixed with a similar adrenaline to when he gets caught up in a fight. Pressing his lips to George’s, his body burns in complete euphoria, the sensation almost agonising. This curt action is ended as Dream pulls away, noticing the other didn’t respond.

His heart sinks, did he just imagine all those glances? The hidden meanings behind all those touches were created in his own mind - he’s delusional. Did he really think the feelings were mutual? He managed to convince himself of things that were never there. These thoughts leave a bitter aftertaste and Dream splutters, a sick feeling in his stomach along with embarrassment he doesn’t try to conceal.

“Your mind.” George says, snapping the blonde from his thoughts, “is a dangerous place.”

As Dream goes to ask what this means, he’s silenced with a pair of lips attaching themselves to his own. He gasps, a mix of shock and pleasure so strong it's as if it’s suffocating him. The potion in George’s lips is so sweet, he wants to taste it forever. The taste so intoxicating, not a single sober thought is created as the line between daydream and reality fades with just the feel of his tongue as it clashes with his own. The two part, mouths agape as they stare at one another, their breaths morphing into one.

There are a dozen things running through Dream’s mind, a dozen things on the tip of his tongue he’ll never have the nerves to say aloud. A dozen ways in which he adores George. Dream seizes this moment of vulnerability, wanting the other to finally be honest with him, as it’s one of the many things he values.

“Are you ever going to tell me the truth?”

George frowns, “hm?”

“Who were you with this whole time?” The blonde stares at him, awaiting a response he so desperately craved. His mind is a dangerous place; which is exactly why this question can’t linger in the air forever. A new silence settles over the two, stirring nerves in Dream’s stomach as a soft wind trails gently around them.

After a short while, the boy finally responds, a cruel smirk hovering on his face as he stares at the other in disbelief. “You still haven't figured it out?”

“Just tell me.” Dream demands, growing irritated with the secrecy.

A deep sigh escapes George’s lips, and he looks around the darkened room before replying with an apologetic expression on his face. “You need to let me go, Dream.”

He freezes, his mind wrapped in layers of shock as he tries to process the meaning behind his words, but can't help wondering if he really wanted to know. They sit in a painful silence, time ticking by slowly as the blonde’s mind floods with vague, incomplete thoughts that don’t make any sense.

A blunt laugh echoes through the room. “Think,” George orders, grinning evilly at his friend. “What really happened to that group you were with?”

Dream tries to still his mind so he can focus on one thought, but they all seep into one another, leaving his mind a mess. He stutters, trying to remember- but it hurts. George repeats the question mockingly, yet somehow serious in a way that doesn’t make sense. The blonde watches as he lifts the bottom of his shirt, exposing his stomach slightly and using his free hand to grab onto Dream’s. The darkness makes it hard to understand what he’s trying to show the other, but it soon becomes obvious as he traces the boy’s fingertips over a deep scar which sits above his hip bone.

This causes Dream’s mind to swirl, his mind flashing with memories which are forcing their way back into his head. He retracts his hand from George’s skin suddenly, as if he had been burned. The world seems to spin, the blonde’s brain turning into mush as nothing; yet everything, makes sense, all at once.

“I hate you.” Dream seethes through gritted teeth, his voice quickly growing hoarse as his eyes gloss over, tears threatening to fall. Dizziness devours him, a headache forming suddenly as memories painfully return to him; forcing him to relive each moment as they invade his mind. He had tried so hard to rid himself of these memories. Bile sits at the back of his throat and he squeezes his eyes shut as tears drench his face. Trembling hands fly to his head, gripping the roots of his hair so hard it hurts. His heart shatters, the feeling so agonising, he could scream. More tears fall as Dream lets out a weak sob.

_Everything hurts._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I hope you're all doing okay today! 
> 
> Also, sorry for this one (:
> 
> (Also, also, apparently I like to make up words, such as 'unpurposely' so please can we all collectively pretend that it's a real word for the sake of this chapter? Thanks.)


	5. To Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream is forced to finally grasp the reality he's been running from, even though it hurts.  
> Enjoy!  
> (Just so you know, memories from the past are written in italics.)

  
“Have you figured it out yet?” A taunting voice asks.

Dream nods hesitantly in response, evading his old friend’s eyes. He doesn’t want to look at him anymore. “They died…” he stutters, trailing off quietly.

“What about me?” George pushes, his tone poisonous. He smiles softly, contrasting to the cruelness of his words, and he leans in to wipe fresh tears from the blonde’s face, drawing his hand back as new ones fall. He feels the warmth of George’s fingers swipe across his trembling bottom lip, he can taste the salt from his own tears on his fingertips. 

A silence washes over them as agonising seconds tick by. Dream takes his time to answer, unsure if he can even speak anymore, but the daunting quietness lingering in the air is suffocating.

His voice quivers as he chokes out a response; his throat burning. “Please stay with me, George.” A strangled sob escapes his lips as the words fall out, it hurts. His body goes limp as he clings onto the fabric of the other's shirt, the material growing thinner and thinner.

“Please.” he repeats breathless as his hand begins slipping. “You’re all I have left.” 

Dream falls to the floor, unable to support his own weight as his head thuds onto the cold concrete. His eyes are squeezed shut so hard it hurts as he drowns in his own warm tears. His head is throbbing, as if it were about to explode; his own thoughts being the detonator. 

His face is drenched with a mixture of sweat and tears. Clutching his head, he opens his eyes slowly, not wanting to know what he’ll see yet somehow not knowing is far worse. He scans the room, frantic as rapid tears drop to the floor, of course, George isn’t here.

_He never was._

Dream wants to scream, to tell the boy he doesn’t hate him, perhaps even to tell him he needs him. The unbearable pain of a _lover_ leaving not once, as if that didn't break him enough, but twice. 

this feeling feels far too familiar, but hurts equally as bad as it did the first time. this feeling, like smashing your favourite vase; ruining your best painting, losing that stuffed animal you've had since you were two, like falling into a dark abyss and drowning in a pit of never ending despair, like accidentally setting your own home on fire which was filled with everything you once loved. _Like dying._

This feeling; is no worse than dying. 

And it hurt just as much. This familiar intensity of raw, burning pain never stopped building up in Dream’s chest since the loss of his best friend. The memories morphing into one another, melancholy filling his lungs to the brim and raising into his throat like rum- burning its way up. A dreadful aftertaste lies bitterly on his tongue, the same tongue which had been touching George’s a mere ten minutes ago. The same tongue he stuck down the throat of a ghost, forming an entirely new bond. 

He could feel his taste buds reaching out, longing for the feel of George’s mouth once more. Even if, again, it wasn’t real. He’d rather the aftertaste of a ghost’s tongue than the burning sensation of this utter pungency.

Everything hurts.

The blonde forces himself to stand, forming a new hatred for this town. His legs trembling with his weight as he begins walking, unsure how long they’ll be able to support him. He drags his body outside, the chilling air of the night drying the tears on his face- numbing it in the process. Numbing _him._

Dream heads into the building on the other side of this ugly town, not being able to bring himself to greet the moon this time around. The moon, who had seen a similar sight to this before- a heartbroken blonde trudging through this desolate wasteland- figures he’ll just say ‘hello’ another time, perhaps when the cloud of sadness stops stalking him, and when he has it in him to bother looking up at the sky.

His glossy eyes stick to the floor, red from crying, as bittersweet memories play in his mind. _Memories of him._ Those same memories he had re-experienced with his ghost. 

_His brown eyes catch the light perfectly, fluttering as he giggles shyly, a blush spreading across his face. Dream shakes his head playfully, “I mean it.”_

_“Pretty?” The other boy asks, as if he hadn’t heard his friend correctly. “Me?”_

_The blonde nods in response, the corner of his lips tugging up into a grin as he delicately admires the other. This compliment was a secret confession, he was testing the waters._  
_He got the reaction he had hoped for, and it was enough for Dream to finally lean in, pressing his lips firmly to the other’s, savouring the taste of his lips. He was sick; and this was the antidote._

_George was his antidote._

A single tear falls from his eyes at the memory, hitting the ground silently. When did his own mind become so poisonous? So rough, so cruel? His brain slowly becoming his own enemy, and he can’t seem to obtain the correct strength to defeat it. 

These memories are lethal; and he doesn’t want to keep remembering them. He’s afraid that he may begin to imagine George once more, and that it may hurt even more than this. That he may delve into the dark shadows of his mind, in which his best friend is still here. These shadows would blur into light, seeping into his reality, and his tongue would resume it’s path down George’s throat. His mind is dangerous, causing him to see things that aren’t there. 

His own mind mocking him, pitying him, and returning to the mocking again. He wishes he could stop these thoughts, which cut him like the sharp edge of a dagger.

_Blood trickles down Dream’s chin, and he wipes it with the back of hand without breaking eye contact with the boy._

_“Just okay?” The blonde muses, looking down at the other. “I’m the best fighter in town.”_

_The boy underneath him laughs, trying to pull his hands from Dream’s grasp, but he’s still too strong. “Will you get off me if I say yes?”_

_He chuckles at this answer, gripping the boy’s hands even tighter as he sneakily dips his head down, pecking his soft lips. His cheeks turn ever so lightly pink, and he adored it. “Never.”_

_The smaller ignores his teasing tone, sighing as red liquid trails down the blonde’s chin again. “At least let me clean you up before you kiss me.”_

_“Oops.” Dream laughs, noticing the boy below him had his blood smeared on his own chin from the contact. He raises a hand toward the other’s chin, gently wiping his blood from it with his thumb, and bringing it up to his lips as he licks the substance off his skin. Without giving the boy a second to process it, he swoops his head down, stealing a kiss once again - unable to resist the flustered expression the other gave him. Breaking away, he chuckles again, repeating the same words he did before. “Oops.”_

He halts, staring at the familiar building in front of him, his mind screaming at him to turn away, run in the opposite direction, go anywhere but inside. It’s too late now. He heaves open the heavy door, the same one he had sealed closed only days before a certain boy showed up.  
An imagination. 

It’s all coming back to him, the real memories he had tried so hard to block out. He had tried to hide in those awful shadows of his mind, to get away from all this sadness. But those shadows drew him further in, the dark abyss surrounded him with no escape. Those shadows grew, until there was no more light, until Dream became the shadows. 

Those shadows forced him to create a new version of George, in a world where he never left. It worked, too. He really did believe his best friend had come back, except he didn’t remember him. The memories he had of George faded when he left, and he became a product of trauma and imagination. A stranger, who just happened to bump into him in this town, and Dream believed it. That this stranger was real and true... but he never was.

His mind is a dangerous place. 

_George’s delicate fingers trace over his skin as they work to clean the wound. He scolds the blonde, calling him reckless, and telling him he needs to stop purposefully getting into fights where he always ends up hurt._

_Scoffing, he rolls his eyes with a grin. “But then I wouldn’t have the honour of letting nurse George save me.”_

_He glances at the other, a harsh glare toned down with the smile he’s trying to hide. George often came to his aid, dressing wounds and cleaning other injuries he had sported during pointless fights after seeking out an infected. He only did it so he could call himself George’s hero, and because he loved the adrenaline it gave him._

_Fighting was in Dream’s blood, he was very skilled- though he’d always let his best friend win when they fought._

_George shakes his in amusement, pressing his lips to the blonde’s._

_A last confession._

Dream’s hands release their tight grasp on his hair, wiping the tears from his eyes at the memory. The last time he and George kissed. He hates this feeling. A craving- a desperation to do that again quickly became so intense, he feels as if he’s suffocating. 

Ignoring the feeling, he enters the building as dread wells up in his chest, sitting uncomfortably in the back of his throat. He freezes upon seeing it, feeling his heart shatter all over again. Tears form in his eyes, and fall as he’s unable to stop them. 

_His body._

He drops to his knees, the shadows of his mind dance around him and he can’t breathe. This is too much. His voice breaks as he screams, the pain in his voice so evident, it’s clear he didn’t have the strength in him to conceal it. His head continues to pound, the sight in front of him repulses him and bile threatens to spill. His hands thud onto the concrete, punching into the ground as it soon becomes stained with his blood. He can feel the skin on his knuckles rip, splitting apart even more each time he strikes the hard surface of the floor. He’s numb to it, barely noticing his face, which is soaked with salty tears he wishes he could drown in. 

He screams again, his throat raw as he backs away from his lover. He scrambles away, tumbling outside and hurriedly kicking the door closed. He lies in the dirt breathlessly, his entire body trembling as the shadows in his mind taunt him, replaying the image he just escaped from. 

Staring up at the sky, he screams at the moon. Minutes go by, his body aches and it’s not long before his eyes begin unwillingly forcing themselves shut, falling into a dark abyss and welcoming sleep finally.  
“Dream?” An unfamiliar voice repeats, getting louder along with the sound of footprints. 

The startled blonde sits up abruptly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looks around, the blur of the world vaguely indicating he’s where he last remembers. He rises to his feet, wobbling unsteadily as an arm holds him for support. 

He can feel the rawness in his throat, as if he had choked up a thousand glass shards.

“Is it really you?” The voice asks, seemingly observing the disoriented boy. “It’s been a while.”

Dream takes a moment to understand, studying the faceless figure as the blur in his eyes slowly fades. A boy stands before him, with a face he recognises vaguely.

“It’s me!” The almost-stranger announces, a beaming smile on his face. “I haven’t seen you since…” He trails off, scratching his head as he thinks. 

A slam interrupts them, and behind the boy sits a big car Dream hadn’t noticed before. The vehicle seems full, but somebody steps out. 

A girl appears, sighing. “Can you two hurry up?” 

The boy waves his dismissively, rolling his eyes at his possible friend. The blonde frowns, his head still thumping heavily. He looks up, it’s still dark, but the sky is beginning to lighten.

Dream looks back to the boy, finally realising who he is. “Sapnap?” He inwardly cringes at how hoarse his voice sounds.

The boy, _Sapnap,_ breaks out into a proud smile before pulling the blonde in for a hug. His childhood best friend, whom he hadn’t seen since the beginning of this outbreak. They pull apart, and he leads Dreams toward the passenger seat of the car, where the girl was sitting before she moved into the back somewhere.

The two enter, and Sapnap sits in the driver's seat, glancing at his friend one last time before starting the car. Dream turns to look at the others occupying the seats behind him, faces he doesn’t recognise stare back at him.

The boy in the middle draws his attention first, a guy taller than him smiles softly. His brown hair is tucked into a hat- a beanie, and he wears a yellow sweater under an earthy coloured coat. 

“Wilbur.” He states, nodding at him in greeting. Dream’s breaths come out shallow at the sound of his accent; the same accent as George had. 

He blinks away, forcing a smile and turning back around in his seat- not wanting to hear it right now. He doesn’t bother looking at the other two, he chooses not to care yet.

“We’re in charge of the safe haven.” Sapnap informs him, not looking away from the road. “Not just us, we’re a part of a big group. We often travel around to find other survivors, like you.”

Dream nods, unsure if his voice would even let him form a sentence before breaking. A sense of safety lingers in the air, and it comforts the blonde as he leans his head on the window. He’s unsure how long this journey will be, but at least he has the moon to travel along with him.

“I’m glad I found you.” He hears Sapnap whisper, and he smiles in response. Though this smile drops when he speaks again. “So, how’d you survive out here all this time on your own?”

A silent tear escapes Dream’s eyes before he’s able to stop it, and he returns his eyes to the moon. As he begins falling into a slumber, he hears his friend say one last sentence. 

“Just luck, I suppose.” It was a statement in the form of a question he didn’t have the courage to answer. Though deep down, he knew he’d never really have to- as Sapnap knows him well enough to drop the topic if it were to come up again. He’s glad they found one another.

Dream finally takes a deep breath, exhaling as if he were letting out a thousand words he couldn't actually say aloud. He misses George; but deep down knows he was right; he does need to let him go, because otherwise he would drown in the dangerous pools of his own mind. 

He needs to let him go because he needs to save himself. Because imagining him as if he were still alive, only made his death harder to grasp. 

He needs to let him go, because that's what you're supposed to do when you love somebody too deeply. He doesn't want to hurt anymore, and the best way for that feeling to stop? 

_Letting George go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was a little sad, oops.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! This marks the end of this story, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing! I'm very grateful for you!
> 
> I didn't really think many people would read this, so I mainly wrote it to practice writing long chapters as I've never really written lengthy ones before. Anyway, I really liked this idea, and wanted to see if I could write something based around it- so let me know your thoughts! 
> 
> I'm also worried that it may be hard to understand what actually happened because sometimes I write around words, without actually explaining them, so if you happen to be confused, George was never real in this story, he was a figment of Dream's imagination as he died a while before. His trauma blocked it all out, and caused him to forget George, and then re-invent him as if he was a new person. He begins to realise this in the last chapter, when his old memories of when George was alive resurface in his mind. Sorry if this already obvious, I just needed to make sure-just in case.
> 
> Now that's cleared up, thank you again for reading! (:


End file.
